


Shake It Off

by athos



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cullen has good friends, Cullen reblogs mabari pictures, Cullen's more confident than you'd expect, Dorian has Sera, Gen, M/M, Taylor Swift Lyrics, awkward ways to meet your neighbor, jammies!, satorial judgment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-07-24 20:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7521136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athos/pseuds/athos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is based on two prompts from a dorm/apartment AU list: - “you live down the hall from me and it’s only now that I’m realizing that you have the cutest pajamas ever” and “you play shitty music at 3 in the morning and I’m not afraid to kill you”</p><p>Dorian and Cullan, modern AU. I’m putting them in a duplex-ish thing, so Dorian is Cullen’s only neighbor. You can read this as pre-slash, and if I think of something, I might continue it. If you liked it and have ideas about *how* I can continue it, I'd love to hear them.</p><p>This is my first bit of fan fiction writing since 2007, first in this fandom.</p><p>*****</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“...players gonna play, play, play, play, play and the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake. I shake it off, I shake it off!” Cullen sang under his breath, shimmying his shoulders to the beat. He refused to feel self-conscious about it--what he listened to in the comfort of his  _ own  _ home, with the privacy of his  _ own  _ headphones, was no one’s business but his. 

 

Mia’s last visit had included a lot of music that Cullen felt obligated to complain about--elder brother’s prerogative--but when she was in the shower he’d taken a thumb drive and copied all the Taylor Swift songs she had on her laptop. He’d deny it to his dying day, but Maker! There was enough seriousness in the world, and the song never failed to make him smile, so what was the harm?

 

He interrupted his singing with an irritated sigh, reaching for the volume on his desktop again. Even with the noise-cancelling headphones covering all of each ear, the music still felt muffled and softer than he expected. 

 

It had become his evening--well, early morning--ritual after getting home from his job, which kept him from 5 pm to 2 am. Get home at 2:15, take a shower, change into some comfy jammies, browse Tumblr and listen to music until he got tired. 

 

He reblogged a photoset of mabari puppies frolicking through the snow when he became aware of a sound that wasn’t going with the beat of the song. Scratching? The headphones weren’t  _ that _ old. Cullen frowned, eyes on his monitor, and absently reached behind the desktop to fiddle with the input and--

 

“FUCK ME!” he bellowed in surprise and pain when noise suddenly roared through the headphones. He reflexively kicked back from his desk, tipping over in his chair and yanking the headphones off his head. He groaned as he rolled to his side and staggered to his feet, able to clearly hear singing about “bad blood” through the ringing in his ears and the headphones on the floor and 5 feet away from him. “Fuck!” he exclaimed again, rubbing his ears. The dingle hadn’t been plugged in all the way? Maker, how long had  _ that _ been the case?!

 

His dismay increased when he registered another noise: banging and yelling from his front door.  Jaw slack with growing horror, he slowly advanced towards it and winced as his apparently irate neighbor’s yelling grew clearer. 

 

“...for the last FOUR DAYS and I have had _enough_! I’d never consider someone who listened to teenage girl  _ pop _ music so enthusiastically, but by the Maker, if I have to fuck you to make it stop, then fuck you I will!”

 

Cullen opened his door for the last five words to be shouted into his face. His apology stuck in his throat as he took in his neighbor: bed-mussed black hair falling over dark eyes bright with anger, a curled mustache that should have been absurd but instead was just sexy as hell, elegant red silk pajamas unbottoned to his sternum to show smooth, brown skin and the black lined edges of a tattoo. Cullen’s gaze continued down the man in front of him and he was strangely charmed by the sight of his neighbor’s bare feet and black-painted toenails. 

 

The ringing in his ears had dissipated, and he snapped his head back up to the man’s face and opened his mouth to apologize for staring and for the music, but stopped when he realized that his opposite was staring at him as well. 

 

“Um,” Cullen began.

 

“Are those  _ lions? _ ” the man asked incredulously, his eyes boring into Cullen’s thighs. 

 

Cullen shifted his weight as he looked down at his fleece sleep pants, decorated with cartoon lions in shining armor cavorting randomly across the fabric. “Yes?”

 

The man finally looked up at Cullen’s face and blinked. “This is absurd,” he declared.

 

“Yes, I’m so, so sorry,” Cullen rushed. “I swear, I thought my headphones were plugged in all the way but apparently they weren’t and--”

 

“No, stop. I can’t,” he said, waving a hand. “I came here ready to kill you--or make you wish you were dead--for subjecting me to that trash for the fourth night in a row, and you’re wearing that!” He pointed accusingly at Cullen’s pants.

 

“What’s wrong with them?” Cullen asked defensively, apology forgotten.

 

“What’s wrong with-- You’re a grown man! Wearing cartoon lions! In armor! I can’t threaten you; you’re too...too…” he trailed off, then glared accusingly at Cullen, as though it were  _ his _ fault that ‘whatever he was’ couldn’t be articulated. 

 

They stood and stared at each other for a few tense moments, and then Cullen held out his hand. “I’m Cullen Rutherford, and I’m sincerely sorry about the music. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

 

“Dorian Pavus,” he said after a measuring pause, taking Cullen’s hand in a firm grip to shake. “I accept your apology for the music,” he said with exaggerated grace, “but those pants are unforgivable.”

 

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “Well, since I didn’t  _ ask _ for forgiveness for my choice of attire…”

 

Dorian flashed a grin at him and glanced back to the offending garment. “I suppose their comfort makes up for their lack of dignity.”

 

Cullen huffed out a laugh. “Yes, they’re very comfortable,” he said, absently running his hand over the soft material covering his thigh. He noticed Dorian’s eyes following his hand and stopped. 

 

Dorian seemed to realize he was staring again, blinked and met Cullen’s eyes. “Well, if you ever want to experience  _ good _ music, you should come over, Cullen. In different pants, though.” He turned to leave, but stopped and looked over his shoulder. “No need for you to add a shirt,” he said with a smirk.

  
Cullen suddenly realized he’d opened the door only in the sleep pants and fought to keep his arms from folding over his bare chest. The sound of his head impacting his doorframe nearly--but not quite-- drowned out Dorian’s departing chuckle.


	2. part 2? ok, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At work the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought of more! Hope you enjoy. 2 things:
> 
> 1\. I'm experimenting with dialog a bit, trying to write in context clues for dialog rather than "person said", "person replied," etc. This means that some of the dialog is not explicitly attributed, but there should be enough context if you know the characters (for example, if you know that Cassandra is most likely to say "Ugh.") that you shouldn't be confused. PLEASE let me know if this is not the case!
> 
> 2\. I have Blackwall reference "the girls" because in my AU headcanon for Blackwall (and I didn't even realize this until I wrote it) he mentors underprivileged youth and right now he's sponsoring two teenage girls, whence his knowledge of popular music.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing! Comments give me life.

Despite being the one short on sleep, Dorian felt as though he was the only person acting normally at work. He’d been getting funny, quickly-averted looks all morning, and Sera hadn’t come up to bother him yet. He’d ignored her presence, but after a few hours of work she hadn’t made any move to interrupt him. Very odd behavior, but not unwelcome.  

 

In any case, there was nothing odd about  _ him _ today. He was even in a good mood, with his morning wank in the shower spiced with fantasies of his neighbor’s -- _ Cullen’s _ \-- fantastically attractive torso. Good stuff, that. Light hair on his pecs that narrowed to a darker trail pointing down his pants. Ugh, those pants. When he was walking to work, he’d had to remind himself that Cullen’s pajamas were an affront to dignity and not endearing. And his music! Maker. Not worth it. ‘ _B_ _ ut he’s cute and polite and snarked at you and-- _ ’ No, some things could not  be ignored. Cartoon lions on grown men ( _ strong arms, hands stroking solid thighs unselfconsciously-- _ no, petting that  _ offensive _ fabric) was not sexy. He kept telling himself that, and focused on his work. 

 

Why was Blackwall looking at him like he’d grown another head? He’d never seemed either attracted or repulsed by Dorian before; just gruffly accepting like he was with everyone else. What was going on?

 

A pop-up chat window blinked annoyingly in his peripheral vision. He glowered and saw it was from Vivienne.

 

[Vivienne] Dorian, darling.

[Vivienne] Why on earth did Sera just send me a video of you dancing in your chair and humming “Shake It Off”?

 

He stared at the monitor. His brain stuttered. Sera. A video. Dancing? A flashing ellipsis in the chat window indicated Vivienne was typing. He felt sweat prickling his brow, but could not bring himself to move. 

 

Vivienne sent a YouTube link, which autoplayed and destroyed the last hope Dorian had of this whole situation being an awful joke. It was, unmistakably, him, at his desk, bouncing and singing to that abhorrent--Maker, he needed to trim his side-cut-- _ that appalling song. _

 

“How d’you even know the words? I mean, I have the girls as an excuse but...” Blackwall trailed off as the full force of Dorian’s incensed stare snapped to him. “Nevermind; some things better left mysteries,” he said, turning away. For a moment Dorian watched Blackwall’s retreat, but then he heard a (badly) stifled guffaw.

 

He rotated in his chair and glared at Sera as though his willpower could immolate her. It didn’t, more’s the pity. 

 

“Hey hey hey hey,” the Maker-blighted, nug-nuzzling elf loudly chanted with a grin. “While you were down about all the liars and dirty little cheats of the world, you could have been gettin’ down to this,” a narrow crotch thrust in his direction, “sick,” and again, “beat!” and again. 

 

“ _ I will put glitter on everything you love _ ,” he ground out. She responded with a characteristically obscene gesture. The IM pinged again.

 

[Vivienne] I’m afraid there’s nothing for it but a strategic retreat, my dear.

 

Dorian was going to kill Cullen. 

 

*****

 

“Why is there a bump on your forehead?”

 

Cullen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Cursed Ferelden genetics; he could  _ feel _ his flush rising. “I met my neighbor.”

 

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “How does that explain your injury?”

 

“It’s not an injury! Maker,” Cullen sighed. “I… I don’t know how to explain.”

 

Cassandra looked up when two mismatched figures came jogging in. “Saw Cullen rubbing his neck across the hall, and figured we wanted in on the story,” Iron Bull said with a grin.

 

Varric snickered. “Yeah, anything that makes Curly blush that color is definitely something I want to hear.”

 

Cullen leveled a raised eyebrow at each of them before smiling ruefully. He had made a fool of himself with Dorian, but at least these three would enjoy it. “I listen to music to decompress after the late shift, and I thought I had my headphones plugged in, but the music seemed soft and I kept turning it up and up and finally realized they weren’t plugged in all the way--”

 

Varric snorted with glee, anticipating the direction of the story. Cullen nodded at him in acknowledgment and continued, “And after I recovered from sudden deafness by pop music, I realized I had been blasting my music in the middle of the night for, apparently, four nights, and my neighbor was pounding on the door. I answered it, uh, apologized, predictably made a fool of myself and hitmyheadonthedoorframe,” he finished in a rush, his bravado exhausted.

 

“Did what now?”

 

“Oh, the blush is getting better.”

 

“Ugh, out with it, Cullen!”

 

“Why am I friends with any of you?” he grumped.

 

Varric reached up and patted his shoulder. “Because once we’re done laughing at you, we’ll help you out. Now, why did you hit your head on the door?”

 

He sighed and girded his loins. “I hit my head on the door because I realized I answered the door shirtless, and didn’t notice until he invited me over to listen to ‘good’ music but said I didn’t need to bother with a shirt, and apparently my Sir Lion pants offend his red silk sensibilities but at least he forgave the Taylor Swift.” He stopped and looked at his friends, who were looking at him with incredulous stares. They all exclaimed at the same time,

 

“Red silk?”

 

“Sir  _ Lion _ ?”

 

“Ugh, Taylor Swift?”

 

“You,” he pointed at Cassandra, “do not get to judge my music. You,” he directed at Varric, “ought to know that lion pajamas are a traditional gift in the Rutherford home and they’re very comfortable and YOU,” he rounded on Iron Bull, “yes. Red silk pajamas.” 

 

Bull watched Cullen’s eyes glaze over. “Cute, huh?”

 

“Maker, yes.”

 

“Why did you think hitting your head would help?”

 

“You’re missing the point, Cassandra,” Varric grinned. “Curly needs to, ah,  _ make it up _ to this handsome neighbor, and we’re going to tell him just how to do that.”

 

Cullen muttered at her, “You try to be sensible when you’re mortified.” Then he caught what the dwarf said. “Wait, what?”

 

Iron Bull’s heavy arm settled on his shoulders. “Now, how do you want to play this? His invitation and observation about your manly shirtlessness are good signs, but do you want to respond in kind, or boringly?”

 

*****

 

Dorian waited for five minutes after he heard Cullen’s door open and close before walking over and knocking loudly on the door. He tapped his foot impatiently while he stood, wondering at the noises of activity and muffled curses from within. Just as he raised his hand to knock again, the door opened. 

 

Cullen looked slightly flushed, his hair dishevelled, but that did nothing to subtract from how good he looked. 

 

“Ah, Dorian! I’m glad you’re home. Er, I mean. I was going to knock in a few minutes and see about taking you up on your offer… the music, I mean.” He waved a hand back at the bags on the table behind him. “I brought home some cheese and wine, and I hope they’re up to your presumably high standards,” he continued with a smile that reached higher on one side, almost like a smirk, but friendlier.

 

Not that Dorian was paying all that much attention to his mouth, because Cullen’s attire was notably different and much improved from the night before. He wore a tight tank top with the Kirkwall Champions logo, and black silk pajama pants, much like the ones Dorian wore himself. The hand Cullen hadn’t used to indicate his groceries was resting on his thigh, same as last night, and as Dorian stared Cullen began moving his fingers slowly over the fabric, back and forth.

 

“Dorian?” 

 

He looked up at the hesitation he heard, and realized that he’d been silent the whole time, just staring at Cullen’s pants. Again. He looked behind Cullen. “You bought wine and cheese.”

 

Cullen nodded. 

 

“And you’re wearing decent clothes.”

 

“Well, you were rather insistent about the pants--”

 

“But you  _ are _ still wearing a shirt.” Dorian tilted his head slightly and raised an eyebrow. “I begin to doubt whether you really want to...expand your musical horizons or not.”

 

“Well,” Cullen cleared his throat, but met Dorian’s gaze confidently. “You  _ did  _ interrupt me. I was planning on being shirtless when I knocked on your door.”

 

“Were you, now?”

 

He smiled and looked down, suddenly torn between shyness and self-assurance. “Well, unless I lost my nerve. But the non-offensive pants and dinner were guaranteed.” 

 

Dorian returned the smile and stepped closer to Cullen, completely charmed. Well, not completely, because he suddenly remembered what happened earlier and planted his feet. “Wait, I’m angry with you,” he declared.

 

“Why?”

 

“You,” he began, poking Cullen’s chest (which was warm and as firm as he’d imagined). “I was made a fool of today at work because your,” he poked again, unable to help himself, “ _ terrible _ music was stuck in my head and my terrible coworker videotaped me.”

 

Cullen looked confused. “Videotaped you...doing what?”

 

Dorian tried to scowl, but he couldn’t keep from smiling. “Singing.”

 

“I see.”

 

“And dancing. To your--”

 

“--to my awful music. Oh, that’s terrible,” Cullen said seriously, but a smile was tugging at the corner of his lips, as well. 

 

“Yes.” He poked Cullen again, for good measure, and haughtily raised his head and looked Cullen right in the eyes. “I demand satisfaction,” he challenged. 

 

Cullen nodded seriously, observing how Dorian’s gaze had lingered on his lips more than once during this surreal conversation. ‘A good sign,’ Bull would say. He stepped forward so they were almost touching. Slowly, carefully telegraphing his intentions and watching for any dissent, he leaned forward and kissed him. 

 

He meant it to be a small kiss, testing the waters, but Dorian made an appreciative sound and surged closer, holding the back of Cullen’s head with one hand and putting the other on his waist, pulling their hips flush together. He’d closed his eyes when Dorian deepened the kiss, but reopened them when they parted and marvelled at the warmth and desire in Dorian’s eyes.

 

Dorian smiled wickedly. “That’s an excellent beginning.”

 

“I am at your service.” 

 


End file.
